


Storm King

by AmandaHuffleduck



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaHuffleduck/pseuds/AmandaHuffleduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha have been friends for long enough to develop their own traditions.</p>
<p>Post Avengers 2012 movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm King

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was kind of inevitable, given how many times I've watched the movie and how much fic I've read. 
> 
> Based _entirely_ off the2012 movie-verse - with no apologies - hence the spelling of BW's last name. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, just digging in somebody else's sandpit. Also, I may have played a bit fast and loose with the geography. Apologies if I've got anything wrong, but it's not going to change anything.

It had become a tradition for Hawkeye and Black Widow, after the completion of shared assignments, to drop off the radar together as soon as possible.  
They didn't always manage to get away completely. One time, because S.H.I.E.L.D. was still on alert, it hadn't been practical to leave the building but it'd been Clint's turn to choose their escape and he'd snuck them up to a neglected alcove in one of the cooling towers. They'd had a couple of hours at least before Coulson had hauled them back in for a briefing regarding the next crisis.

These escapes were tolerated but not sanctioned. Coulson, and more importantly Director Fury, understood how important they were to the agents' mental and emotional stability. Being able to just _be still_ with someone you trusted implicitly, away from the crowding presence of others was very grounding. Fury could ignore the implied thumbing of noses at his authority in these cases. Besides it wasn't as if the pair were completely incommunicado. That only happened when there was serious shit going down.

 

Post-Loki and it was Natasha’s turn to choose their destination.

Thor had taken his bound and gagged brother back to Asgard; Bruce had succumbed to Stark’s unsubtle cajoling and had gone with him to Stark Tower to do science; and Steve, Captain America, had ridden off on a motorbike somewhere – without a helmet, though that probably wasn't as much of an issue for him as for anyone who wasn't a super soldier. 

Natasha had commandeered the car keys from Clint and wordlessly ordered him over to the passenger side. The archer dropped in to the leather seat, sprawling to fill the space, seemingly at ease though Natasha could sense the tension in his thighs, his abdomen.  
“Where are we going?” A booted foot landed on the dash, earning him a raised eyebrow.  
“You know I can’t tell you.”  
“Wake me when we get there…” Clint slouched even further down in to the seat, folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes behind the sunglasses and dozed...

"Stony Point? Where's this?" Clint was out of the car and stretching slowly, working out the knots in his spine.  
"Orange County. Along the Hudson." Natasha's lips quirked in to a lop-sided smile. "This is your country, you should know these things."  
"It's a big country." The archer grumbled. "Can't know _everything_."

They'd pulled in to a gas station, with the inevitable diner attached, across the road from a marina. Not a lot of big boats moored here, Clint noticed, mostly small cruisers and sailing boats. Pleasure craft. Pretty spot.  
Natasha threw him the car keys.  
"I get to drive?" He asked lightly, knowing it was unlikely.  
"Fuel and bathroom break." She replied. "Fill up then park the car. I'll meet you inside."

It was nice to take time over a meal. The past few days had been hectic, tense, what with one thing or another.  
Clint stared at his empty cup. _Coulson would've approved_. He lingered on the thought, poked at it, prodding the ragged edges of a healing wound. _Dammit._  
Natasha merely watched him, her eyes unreadable over the rim of her own cup.  
"Ready to go?" She held out her hand for the keys.  
"I have to pee. See you at the car."

"How much further?" Clint was awake now and curious, sitting up straight in the seat.  
"Little under an hour."  
"Right." He smirked. "I spy, with my little eye – "  
Natasha swore softly but she was smiling.  
" _Every_ time, Barton..."  
" – something beginning with 'R'."  
"... river?"  
It filled the landscape to one side, hardly understated.  
"Too easy. Your turn."  
"I spy with my little eye... something beginning with 'A'."  
"Asshole!" He crowed. "Meaning me! That's always your first shot. You really shouldn't be so predictable." He laughed even though he hadn't quite managed to dodge out of the way of the sharp punch to his upper arm. What was another bruise between friends anyway?

" _Storm King State Park_." Clint noted as they turned off the highway.  
Natasha shrugged.  
"I like the name."  
"Fair enough."

Trees, lots of trees on rocky hills: very little traffic.  
They made their way along the only road in the park, passing an _Aleck Meadow Reservoir_ then onwards to something appetisingly called _Bog Meadow Pond_. Here Natasha steered them off the official road on to tracks where they surely weren't meant to be, let alone take a car. 

They headed up an incline, squeezing further and further through dense vegetation. Clint glanced at his friend, searching her face for any clues that she didn't know where they were. Natasha noticed, of course.  
"Relax." She grinned. "Almost there."  
Sure enough a few minutes later they emerged in to a not-quite clearing. Well, the trees were a little less crowded here anyway.  
"You're kidding." Clint surveyed the honest-to-god log cabin they'd pulled up alongside. "Nat, how'd you find this?"  
Black Widow, the super spy, contrived to look mysterious and Clint knew he'd never get the answer.

She didn't have a key to the cabin but deftly picked the lock, pushing open the door and ushering Clint in.  
"This is so I get to deal with the spiders first, huh?" He said as he paused on the threshold, automatically cataloguing the dimensions, possible exits and hidey holes etc.  
"My hero." Natasha patted his back, crinkling her nose at him. "I'll unload the car..."

The cabin was very basic: a single room with a fireplace in the middle of the wall opposite the door, a wooden-slat bed frame at one end, a small table and a couple of chairs at the other. The sink was made from an old kerosene tin, split in half lengthways to form two triangular prisms and set in a wooden frame: the single, rickety cupboard next to it held absolutely nothing. There was no electricity, of course, no running water, but it was solidly made and weather proof. Little used, perhaps, but evidently maintained. No obvious spiders. 

"There's water in the tank 'round the side." Natasha dropped a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. issue carry-alls on to the table, along with Clint's bow case and his own bag. The two compact bedrolls and sleeping bags she tossed on to the bed. "The outhouse is at the back."  
"Supplies?"  
"I have supplies." Natasha opened one of the carry-alls with a _ta-da_ flourish.  
Clint quirked an eyebrow.  
"Chocolate and bourbon? Awesome. Gimme."

They sat on the topmost porch step, facing each other, leaning back against the upright supports of the decidedly rustic railing. Natasha was sitting cross-legged; Clint's legs were stretched out in front of him. If he pointed his toes he could brush her shins.  
"So this – " Clint gestured to the first of the half-eaten chocolate blocks, and the first of the bourbon bottles they'd been passing companionably between them. " – is it?"  
"There's deer in the park."  
He snorted.  
"I'll hunt if you get the firewood."  
They smiled at each other, then Natasha's expression become... serious.  
Clint sighed inwardly. This was it then, their own personal debriefings. Not enjoyed, but necessary. The S.H.I.E.L.D. shrinks and counsellors didn't know half of what went on in their heads, but Hawkeye and Black Widow had no reservations with each other anymore.  
"So..." She said.  
"So." He responded softly. "You met 'the other guy'."  
"I did." She shivered visibly and he extended his foot to stroke her leg. "When we were all fighting together at the end it didn't seem that bad, but that first time on the Helicarrier..." She looked Clint directly in the eyes. "I like to think I don't scare easily but, shit. He's a force of nature. There was nothing – nothing – I could do to stop him. I just had to keep out of the way." She dropped her gaze to the weathered planks of the porch.  
Clint tapped his toe against her leg.  
"And then I tried to kill you. Hell of a day."  
"Ah, I was never in any serious danger from you." She almost managed a smile. "If I hadn't just exhausted myself with the other guy your 'cognitive recalibration' would've happened much sooner."  
"Thanks for that." Clint acknowledged her help with a lift of the bottle before taking another mouthful. "We're probably going to end up, uh, working with him again at some time. You okay with that?"  
Natasha sighed and took the bottle back.  
"If I can keep at least Thor or Steve between us I'll be happier." She admitted.  
"What I noticed at the end there..." Clint began slowly, thinking through his observations. "Was the Hulk more or less co-ordinated with us as a team. Now, if that was 'cause he was actually working with us, or just 'cause there was a bigger threat to deal with...?"  
"He took directions from Cap." Natasha was thoughtful. "And he saved Stark from ending up as ego-jam on the sidewalk."  
" _Ego-jam_?" Clint snorted a laugh. "That's... so appropriate."  
"Thank you." She handed the bottle over and the archer absently took another sip, still pondering.  
"Maybe the key to not getting Hulk-smashed is to, I dunno, acclimatise him, or Bruce, to the idea that you're a friendly?"  
"And how do I do that?" Natasha raised an eyebrow.  
"Well, not the Hulk so much, perhaps. But you can get close to Bruce. They're not totally separate, are they?"  
"' _Get close to Bruce_ '? What exactly are you suggesting, Barton?"  
Clint ignored her hand outstretched for the bottle: his instincts for self-preservation telling him it probably wasn't prudent just at the moment for her to have a weapon. That was of course discounting the actual weapons she was no doubt carrying.  
"You don't have to take him to bed." He lifted a shoulder. "Just go for a coffee or something."  
Natasha stared at him then laughed.  
"Bruce is a smart guy, he'll know what I'm doing."  
"Is that a problem? He can only laud your... what is it? Foresight?"  
Natasha waited 'til her friend had the bottle to his lips before she said:  
"We could double-team him. Acclimatise him to both of us."  
The explosive result was well worth the kick to her shin. Clint was literally flailing.  
"Ah shit, bourbon up my _nose_...!" He was laughing though, which was only making it worse. Natasha grabbed the bottle before he could drop it. She smirked at him before taking a demure sip.  
"Bad idea anyway." She mused. "Wouldn't want to come between the bromance of the century."  
Clint had managed to dig out a tissue and was mopping the splashes of alcohol off his jacket. He blew his nose then grinned at Natasha.  
"No, wouldn't want to do that. They're _adorable_."  
And it was adorable, sort of, watching Bruce and Tony – two of the smartest people he'd ever met – geek out over stuff that was largely incomprehensible to anybody else. Tony in particular was like a little kid who was having his best friend over to play.

Decorum restored, they sat in comfortable silence together. The first bottle of bourbon was more than half-empty and set to the side for the moment; the first block of chocolate was gone and a second unwrapped and ready to go. It was very quiet here by the cabin even though civilisation actually wasn't that far away. There was birdsong, and the whisper of a breeze moving through the tree tops.  
Clint was aware of his friend's silent scrutiny. He rested his head back against the railing and sighed.  
"Just ask."  
Natasha tilted her head slightly, expression solemn.  
"Did Loki force you in to sex?"  
The archer raised an eyebrow.  
"I stole, I killed and I led an assault on the Helicarrier under his direction and that's what you're wondering about?"  
"It's not an uncommon tactic to break someone."  
"I didn't need to be broken." Clint said softly. He looked at her, looked in to her bright, lovely eyes and saw the understanding. "I was ready to do anything for him, Nat, anything. Hell, he didn't even need to give me an order. A request, a suggestion, a fucking _hint_ and I would've - " He breathed out evenly and unclenched his fists, watched his fingers flex and extend. "But no, there was no sex. It wasn't on the agenda and we were on a tight schedule. If there'd been time..." He shrugged. "I dunno. I caught him looking at me sometimes, like he either wanted to fight me or fuck me."  
Clint's hands had clenched into fists again: Natasha leaned forward, reaching to wrap her fingers around his. She stroked her thumbs gently back and forth over knuckles white with tension.  
"Do you think he's out of your head now?"  
The archer shifted uneasily but she didn't let go of his hands.  
"I really want to say yes." Clint's voice was hoarse. "But I don't know. I don't know if there's some seed of him left, buried deep down."  
" _Clint_." Natasha tightened her grip. She shook his hands, forcing his attention outwards, towards her and away from the misery of uncertainty. "Let's say there's nothing of him left in there. Let's believe it. Loki had to put you under a spell to do his bidding. It was the only way he could make you do those things, because you are a good man."  
"Am I?"  
The self-doubt was hard to miss, harder to hear.  
"Yes." Natasha insisted fiercely. "And I'd cognitively recalibrate you again in an instant if I thought otherwise."  
Clint blinked at her, then his mouth twitched.  
"Thanks?"  
"You're welcome." She squeezed his fingers one more time then let go before changing the subject. 

"And now we're officially a 'team', with not-so-secret headquarters." She leant back again. "Nice of Stark to offer the use of that monument to his dick."  
"It's not subtle, is it?" Clint shook his head. "I mean that platform, jutting out over the city? _Hey, look at me! I'm rich, I'm smart, I have a huge erection_. Totally obvious."  
They smirked at each other.  
"Should we point it out to him?" Clint asked.  
"Oh, I think he already knows."  
The alcohol passed between them once more.  
"Gonna be interesting sharing the space." The archer mused. "Shall we take bets on who wants to kill Stark first?"  
"We all want to kill him now, anyway." Natasha was practical. "It could be fun."  
"What? Killing Stark?" Clint manfully accepted the stinging slap to his thigh.  
"Living in the tower. Putting up with Stark." Natasha half-smiled. "Though, if we get back and Bruce hasn't had an... incident, despite Stark's best efforts – and you _know_ he's going to push it – there could be hope for the rest of us."  
"Aaand we're back to Bruce again." Clint said airily. "See how you keep doing that, 'Tash? 'M sure the psychs would have something to say about your motivations there." Light though his tone was he was watching her like a, well, hawk, ready to defend himself if she retaliated. Clint absolutely understood how teasing the Black Widow was a rare honour and privilege afforded only to him, but consequences were to be expected. "Wait. You like the idea of moving in to Tony's big erection?"  
The spy indicated her indifference with a slight shrug.  
"I can handle Stark. And no doubt Fury would see having us all under one roof as an _excellent_ cost cutting exercise."  
Clint rolled his eyes.  
"Now that would be the real incentive for him. None of this team-bonding crap." He frowned as he picked up the bottle again. "I like having my own space. Don't think I'd trust Tony to keep his nose out of it."  
“Neither do I but there’s nothing to say we can’t maintain separate places.”  
“True.” A grin spread slowly over Clint’s face. “And Stark would have the _best_ toys.”  
“The best alcohol.” Natasha snagged the bottle out of her friend’s hand and took a swig.  
“The best parties.”  
“It would never be dull.” She handed back the bourbon. “Complete chaos, but never dull.”  
She watched him drink then shook her head when he went to pass it back to her.  
“No, that’s enough.” 

Black Widow stood, moving from cross-legged to upright in one fluid motion, stepped in to the cabin to emerge shortly with a roll of toilet paper. She skipped down the steps, her hips swinging as she strode around the side of the cabin.  
“I’ll go scare the spiders away for you.” Natasha called back over her shoulder.  
“ _Thanks_.” Clint lifted the bottle in an ironic salute before going to take another swallow, then changed his mind about drinking. No, definitely enough for now. He set the bourbon aside again and stood up, grimacing at the stiffness in his butt and thighs, and the faintest touch of a head rush. Yep, definitely enough.  
Clint looked up as Natasha returned – as steady on her feet as ever – and was surprised to notice the daylight was rapidly fading in their little clearing and an evening chill was settling in to the air.

“I’m beat.” Natasha stooped to pick up the remaining chocolate on her way in to the cabin. “You coming?”  
“Right behind you.”  
Clint didn’t use the outhouse, electing instead to piss on a tree several long-legged paces away from the cabin. It wasn’t that he was scared of spiders, nossir, but neither did he see the point of putting himself in their way if it wasn’t necessary.

Natasha had spread the bedrolls out over the slats of the bed and was already snuggled in to one of the sleeping bags, her carry-all making do as a pillow. She'd thoughtfully placed Clint's own bag at the head of the bed ready for him. Sure, they could've had _actual_ pillows but both of them were in the habit of having certain essentials to hand while they slept.

Clint latched the cabin door from inside, kicked off his boots and put them up off the floor on one of the chairs. The archer slid in to his own sleeping bag, wriggling until he was as comfortable as he was going to get. The S.H.I.E.L.D. supplied bedrolls weren't super luxurious but they were a sight more cosy than anything commercially available.  
Once he was settled Natasha edged closer, nestling against his side with a soft sigh.  
"We'll get through this." She murmured.  
"Yeah." Clint sighed. "We always do." He tilted his head until his cheek was pressed against the top of her head. He was silent for a moment then: "This is very peaceful an' all but could we go to a hotel soon? I want room service."  
"You're a pussy, Barton." Natasha smiled.

It was quiet and still in the cabin, and then Clint was sniggering, albeit sleepily.  
"What?" Natasha muttered in to his shoulder.  
"' _I don't see how that's a party_ '." The sniggering had devolved to outright giggling now. "You Russians are so literal."  
The Black Widow uttered something in her native language that Clint knew from experience wasn't complimentary, but as it was delivered in a tone of fond exasperation he figured he probably wasn't going to get knifed in his sleep. 

Eventually the giggling subsided and they slept...

**Author's Note:**

> I know! No FrostHawk! What was I thinking?!
> 
> Thanks, Alestrel, for the hand-holding. New fandoms are _hard_. : )


End file.
